


Christmas Harder

by gryvon



Category: Die Hard (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/pseuds/gryvon
Summary: "See, that's the thing." Lucy pauses to eat another slice of orange. "This is my dad's apartment, so out of the two of us, which of us has the right to be here?"And that's the crux of it, really. Matt knows he doesn't belong here with the McClanes. He really does, but he likes living with John. Really. He never would have thought it possible. His old self, before the fire sale, would laugh. Warlock still laughs at him. But it's strangely nice and not only because all of his possessions were blown up and he had literally nowhere to go.





	Christmas Harder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/gifts).



Lucy sits on the counter of John's tiny Brooklyn apartment, peeling an orange and staring at Matt with one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"You know, you could try helping," Matt says. He's got four pots going on the stove, a ham in the oven, and two pies waiting their turn.

"Nah," Lucy says. "Cooking's not my thing." She pops an orange slice in her mouth and grins.

If there ever was a passive-aggressive way to cut green beans, Matt's about to find it.

"What's this all about, anyway?"

Matt glances at Lucy as he slides the cut beans into a casserole dish. "What?"

Lucy spins her finger in a circle. "This. The whole Betty Crocker routine."

Matt tries to hide his blush by ducking his head to mix the green bean casserole. "Would you rather have Chinese? Or you can leave. You're welcome to leave. I'm sure there are plenty of wonderful restaurants open at Rutgers."

"See, that's the thing." Lucy pauses to eat another slice of orange. "This is my dad's apartment, so out of the two of us, which of us has the right to be here?"

And that's the crux of it, really. Matt knows he doesn't belong here with the McClanes. He really does, but he likes living with John. Really. He never would have thought it possible. His old self, before the fire sale, would laugh. Warlock still laughs at him. But it's strangely nice and not only because all of his possessions were blown up and he had literally nowhere to go.

But one month has dragged into six months, each adding a new layer of guilt onto his shoulders.

"I know," Matt whines. "Really, I do. I really hate imposing on John like this."

He turns to hobble across the thankfully narrow kitchen to grab the milk from the fridge. It's taking a surprisingly long time to recover from getting shot in the knee. Or, not really, considering how much cartilage needed replaced. Fuck terrorists. 

"Do you know how much apartments cost around here? It's ridiculous. I told Bowman that I needed a raise if he expected me to work in this city but he threatened to have me transferred to the field office in Anchorage..."

"Matt," Lucy says with a sigh.

"...and don't get me wrong, Alaska looks beautiful in photos but I really don't want to live there, the internet speeds are awful, I can't live like that, and I was asking John about some places I saw in this apartment hunting paper that I found in the lobby..."

"Matt."

"...and he took the paper from me and set it on fire. Like, just pulled a lighter from his pocket and dropped the whole flaming thing in a trash can. I thought he was going to burn the apartment down which, yeah, that'll look great on future applications. One apartment gets blown up, the other burns down and..."

"Matt!"

He flinches at the volume of Lucy's shout but it effectively stops his ramble. "Yeah?"

"Breathe." Lucy's staring at him with wide eyes.

He exaggerates his inhale just to be obnoxious.

"Everything okay in here?" John asks from the doorway. He starts to come into the kitchen and Matt whirls, pointing a spoon threateningly.

"No!"

John raises his hands and takes a step back.

Lucy pointedly glances between them. "Do I want to know?"

"Matthew doesn't like me being in the kitchen when he cooks," John says.

Lucy's looks at Matt with a grin and mouths 'Matthew?'

Matt ignores her and brandishes the spoon at John. "You burned water. I swear to God, I don't know how you did it, but you are a menace and should not be allowed near food prep. We are going to have a nice Christmas dinner which means you stay out of the kitchen."

John is silently laughing at him. Matt chooses to pretend he doesn't notice. Lucy may be laughing too. Assholes.

The timer chooses that moment to go off. Matt drops the spoon on the counter and hobbles over to the oven. The smell of cooked ham makes his mouth water when he opens the oven. There's a thick layer of drippings at the bottom of the roasting pan that will make amazing gravy, but first he has to get the ham out of the oven. He slides a mismatched set of oven mitts on his hands and grabs either side of the pan.

He may have bought too much ham. Damn this thing is heavy. He gets it an inch off the rack before his knee twinges and he has to set it down before he spills hot ham juice all over himself.

"Matt, let me do that."

John takes a step into the kitchen and Matt turns, threatening him with an oven mitt-clad fist. "Don't you dare!"

John sighs and moves back to the line where the kitchen linoleum meets the carpet of the living/dining area. Lucy covers her face to hide her laughter. He can still hear her. She's not fooling anyone.

"Matt," John tries. "Let me do it."

"No," Matt says stubbornly. "I got it in there, I can get it out."

It says something about his physique or lack thereof that he's struggling to lift a damn ham, but it's hard, okay? He's making a valiant second attempt when his knee gives out and he drops the ham a little too hard. Some of the drippings slosh out and land on the oven door.

"For Pete's sake."

Before Matt can object, John's marching across the room. He grabs Matt around the middle and picks him up one-armed. Matt's entire face goes red but that's not the only place blood is rushing too. He's too surprised to move or say anything and he's going to pretend the squeaking sound he made when John picked him up never happened. John spins them and sets Matt down out of the way of the oven. Matt's torn between putting his hands over his crotch to hide his erection and pretending nothing happened in hopes no one noticed. John uses Matt's confusion to pluck the oven mitts off Matt's hands. He lifts the ham and sets it on the cooling rack already set on the counter. He even shoves the waiting casserole dishes into the oven, then shuts the door, drops the mitts on the counter, and marches back to the "safe" side of the doorway.

"Well, that happened," Matt squeaks.

Lucy hops off the counter, rolls her eyes, and mutters, "Just fuck and get it over with," on her way to the living room.

John raises an eyebrow, looks very pointedly at Matt's crotch, and turns to follow his daughter.

Matt kind of wishes he'd died when the crazy terrorists shot him. At least that would have been less awkward.

* * *

Four hours later, the food has been devoured, the remnants put away, and Lucy is finally, finally on her way back to her apartment in Camden. Matt stretches out on the couch with his laptop while John sits in his armchair nursing a beer. Matt's stomach is pleasantly full and he's still riding the high of Lucy and John complimenting his cooking, so he doesn't read much into John's offhanded comment of, "You can ignore what Lucy said."

Matt snorts. "I ignore most of what Lucy says." Then his brain catches up and he sits up wide eyed. "I mean, um, which, ah... which thing..." He licks his lips and he's sure it's his imagination because John is not watching the way Matt's tongue plays over his lips.

John sets his beer down and leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You can stay here as long a you like. As long as you need. I don't... I'm not expecting anything."

Matt's certain he's overthinking this. He has to be. "I like cooking. It's no problem."

John looks at him and Matt feels like he did when John picked him up. He feels weightless, like John's arm around him is the only thing that he has any connection to. The Earth is gone and so is gravity and there's just John. Only John's on the other side of the room and they're talking about a throwaway comment from Lucy that Matt had hoped to forget.

"I... um..." He closes his laptop and sets it aside. He can't look at John so he stares at his socks. "I know you don't..."

John's sigh is a heavy thing. "You're young enough to be my kid."

That's not a no. That's not an 'I'm straight' or 'I don't like you that way' or 'I don't mind if you're gay but I'm not.'

Matt looks up and meets John's gaze. "Is that a deal breaker?"

John doesn't look away. "It should be."

"But is it?"

They stare at each other in silence for far too long. Matt's just about to give up. He looks away, which is the precise moment when John finally says, "It's not."

"Oh."

Oh, indeed.

He looks back at John and John hasn't so much as twitched. It has to be hard for John to admit something like that. He's older. He's from a different generation that wasn't as open and accepting of anything that veered from straight and cis. But John's not backing down. Now that Matt knows what to look for, or at least thinks he does, he sees the want in John's eyes. The interest that Matt never let himself look for.

Oh.

"Can I kiss you?" He doesn't mean to say it but the words are out there now.

"Yeah."

John doesn't move so Matt does. He approaches the armchair and guides John into leaning back with one hand on John's insanely muscled chest. He very carefully lowers himself to sit on John's lap.

"Is this okay?" Matt whispers, voice low, words meant for them alone.

One of John's hands rests heavy on Matt's thigh. The other presses against the small of Matt's lower back. "Yeah."

He leans in slowly, giving John time to pull away or decide to call this whole thing off. John doesn't. Matt closes his eyes before their lips meet. He doesn't have much practice at this. He hasn't kissed a whole lot of people—boys or girls—and with the injury and a bit of a dry spell before that, it's been a while.

Still, he's not prepared for the dry press of John's lips or their firmness. It feels like kissing granite. Then John shifts, moving Matt with him, and John's mouth opens up and there's tongue and grasping hands and Matt has no idea what's going on but he likes it. He likes it a lot. John's tongue is in his mouth and it's all Matt can do to hang on to John's shoulders like a lifeline and try to kiss back. The hand on his leg squeezes. It feels a lot closer to his crotch than it had before but the hand on his back is steady, pulling him in tight against John's chest.

There's tongue and teeth and warm hands and muscles, John has so many muscles. He lets his brain turn off for once and just feels. He's warm, almost too warm, like he's burning up with the need to get closer to John. He wants to turn, to shift until he's straddling John's massive thighs and grinding down on the erection he can feel pressing against his thigh. He thinks that might be too much. Maybe not. His knee would probably object.

He moans when John pulls away and something dark and dangerous lights in John's eyes.

"Stay," John says.

Suddenly the whole setting the paper on fire thing makes sense. There's only one sensible answer he can give. "Okay."

Just like that, it's simple. He doesn't have to get Bowman to give him a raise or move to Alaska or look at any more of the shitty apartments that are in his price range. He can stay right here, with John.

It's where he wants to be.


End file.
